Disclaimer- I do not own Warcraft, and if any content is similar or seems to look like an attempt to copy someone else's work, then I apologize because I am not trying to make an attempt to own something I do not. But I am positive that the Warcraft games belong to Blizzard Entertainment.
(A few months after the battle of the Frozen Throne)
The scarlet sky turned to crimson as the light from the "sun" disappeared and was replaced with relentless, unbearable dread. The lavender-skinned women with their bows in hand with their splintered and halfway broken arrows dangling from their quivers continued to trek farther and farther into the barren wasteland. The Elven women seemed weak and defenseless with their weak and cracked skin and the despair in the Elves' eyes. Their worn and ragged armor clung onto their now emaciated bodies. Beside the ill travelers, extremely dark and sickened cats walked beside their owners. The limping animals were what remained of the vicious, strong, and dignified Nightsabers that once strode into battle, roaring with ferocity and battle lust as they challenged the demons and other monstrosities in their paths. Meanwhile, on the cats' long and arched backs sat the Night Elven warriors that had raised them. This was once the dignified pet of the wild huntresses.
Tyrnic Smallmoon, one of the newest recruits, coughed and gagged on the suffocating air. She glared at the setting sun, which seemed to grow smaller and smaller, like their hopes for survival. She wondered if she would have fared better if they stayed with Mistress Shadowsong. Tyrnic, as a young and naive girl, had a deep respect for the infamous Warden. But, sadly, Maiev was so driven by the "hunt" for Illidan that she too had seeped into a vengeful madness. Fearing for their once immortal lives, a small group of Watchers tore away from their Mistress and sought their own goal, they desperately needed shelter and a chance for survival. Risking their lives in a suicidal mission such as locating a rogue demon hunter while weakened and going against sorcerers and sharp scimitars was not wise. Tyrnic once wondered if they did survive this ordeal, if they could possibly rejoin their insane leader and then try to take on Illidan.
But there were many issues with that scenario. First of all, even with renewed strength and maybe a few allies (if they were even that lucky), they were no match for the combined forces of the deadly Naga and the powerful Blood Elves. Most importantly, she knew that the abandoned Maiev would no doubt perish sooner than they. The darkness that clouded Maiev's poor, confused mind AND her seething hatred for the Betrayer would lead to her demise. The young Elf cursed. What was the point? They were no doubt meant to perish in this damned world. Oh why did she have to grow up to be an archer serving under a broken order? She would've had an easier life in her deceased parents' cottage, studying and watching the trees and birds.
Then again, she hated such dull activities. Curse her impatient mind. Many believed that Elves had the patience of leaves that waited many months to die on the forest floor in the glorious Circle of Life, but there were those who had a lust for adventure and enjoyed the rush of adrenaline through the heat of battle. Once again, she cursed her instincts.
A harsh and painful gasp alerted the sensitive ears of the weakened women. Her dusty blue hair seemed to rise as she turned hesitantly behind her. She was one of the last in the clumsy line formed by the Night Elf women. The red sand clogged her boots and caused her to trudge slowly through the Outland as her hopes for survival grew slim. She was the fittest in the group, with her brittle hair, slightly glittering silver orbs and pale, sweaty lavender skin. This was a bad state of affairs her Sisters were in.
She gasped sharply as she noticed one of her fallen sisters. The older woman was lying face-down in the silty, red clay. Tyrnic staggered to her. She knelt down slowly.
"S-sister?" The frail girl said feebly. The fallen women did not breathe, or show any signs if life. Tyrnic clutched her hands tightly as she was suddenly choked with emotion. She bent her head down onto other woman's left body absent-mindedly, and wept.
Still, after all of the pain from the last few months, Smallmoon still wanted to live.
But she knew that she could not go on.
(Thunder Bluff, Home of the Noble Tauren)
"Peace is a fragile, almost impossible step toward resolution. A single mistake, a single skirmish, can shatter the very foundations of tranquility that we all strive for.
Well, what MOST of us strive for.
It was a mere decade since the chaotic battle of Mount Hyjal. The remains of the Demon Lord, Archimonde, still reside on the limbs of the great tree, Nordrassil. Three great, mortal armies rose to defend this tree, and their world, against the demons that sought to ravage it, like they did many eons ago. Our people, and the other armies, have now attempted to rule our countries in peace. But, the elders have sensed a disturbance, and the arrival of the Si--"
"Elder Windcaller, who are those strange creatures with the pointy ears that have visited our home?"
Elder Windcaller, a wise, aged tauren who had served the Horde during such troubled times, shushed the young child that interrupted his tale. The white, wrinkled sage with gnarled horns and a withered smile repeated his hand motion that he had used to silence the very young orc. The very young, unknowing orc. He remembered when he had been so eager, so ignorant of the malice of this world of war.
"Hush child. Listen, and I will tell you."
The green-skinned boy nodded at the frail, all-knowing tauren. The patient elder found the child's eagerness for knowledge refreshing.
"As I was saying, the arrival of the Sin'dorei, the Blood Elves, seems to have created a shift in the world's balance. They are tainted people, with a sorrowful past. Show respect to them, and our alliance will prosper." Elder Windcaller had seen some members of the Sin'dorei, and he felt the arcane corruption and hunger that they were enduring. He felt immediate sorrow and uneasiness upon knowing of this "disease." The Blood Elves seemed to mean no harm, but their motive for finding sources of new, dark energies was questionable, and certainly dangerous. Their troll brethren seemed to be suspicious of the Elves too. But, they of course, only truly trusted the honorable orcs, who seemed to have more faith in the Elves.
The Forsaken, the Undead renegades led by Sylvanas Windrunner, seemed to be very curious about the new additions to the Horde. They, of course, knew of the horrible destruction of their homeland, and some of the Forsaken were once High Elves, too.
Only time would tell ...
(Somewhere beyond Azeroth ...)
The large, sandy cave was filled with primitive sketches of twisted and even demonic, creatures. For all the time he had been in this barren place, Rynix had never seen anythingthat would have been considered "normal" among most of the inhabitants of Azeroth. There were no cute and "cuddly" critters or any mammals of any kind, unless if you counted the damned and forsaken humanoids that roamed this wasteland.Only corrupted and sorrowful monsters lived in this terrible place
Rynix trotteddeeper into the cave that he now called his temporary home. Along the walls were discarded barrels and jugs that once held strong alcoholic beverages. Rynix chuckled to himself. Pandarens were known to take likings to many types of ale.
Rynix continued to trot leisurely through the cave, humming as he went about. He had searched the cave several times. There were no monsters, except for the occasional arachnid.
The black-and-white bear man madea face as he pondered his choices for dinner. Demon hound guts, mutated worm entrails. Ugh. Perhaps he would be better off starving tonight.
A clanging brought attention to his scarred and furry ears. He knew it was one of the damned over-sized spiders attempting to steal his ale. No one should mess with a Pandaren's ale! He grabbed a crudely crafted sword made of a sturdy type of plant found in his homeland and started forward, and was startled by a fearful shriek.
(Somewhere on the Icy continent of Northrend)
A voice inside the prince's headchuckledHe was now fused with his champion. He was now invulnerable, unstoppable.
The blade that "he" held suddenly tingled.
It hungered. Now, he could plan revenge on those who preyed upon him.
His soul erupted in a fit of insane laughter. The Hunter has become the Hunted.
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A/N - Okay, I've been hanging out an hour past my bedtime, and I'm still awake, so I decided to download this story. It may seem sort of dull now, but I plan to reveal everything and make it more interesting in the later chapters.I might revise thisbut I am too tired now. -.-
I apologize for any factual errors.
